


Sweet Dreams, and Sour

by Morgelyn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Ramsay, Dream Sex, Dreaming!Reek, Dreams and Nightmares, Hope It's Well Recieved, M/M, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, Thramsay - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 15:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22497982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgelyn/pseuds/Morgelyn
Summary: Reek discovers that the difference between a dream and a nightmare is all a matter of context.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Reek, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy/Reek
Comments: 16
Kudos: 76





	Sweet Dreams, and Sour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deiwimin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deiwimin/gifts).



> For the immensely creative and wonderful Deiwimin - thank you for encouraging and supporting me in my proclivities! ❤️

Reek is confused, desperately so. He isn't sure where he is or what he should be doing, and that is a situation he has long since identified as one likely to end in pain. Of course, most situations generally do for him, but this seems particularly troubling. The room around him is unfamiliar; or, at least, not a room he can name. There is something about it he vaguely recognises: the broad grey flagstones, the burning peat and dried seaweed in fireplace filling the room with dancing light and its distinctive fragrance, the large wooden bed with its feather mattress piled high with myriad furs, the external sounds of gales driving waves to crash into rock only slightly muffled by the shuttered window. But this is not a place Reek has ever been. With growing horror, Reek realises that this isn't a place _he_ knows, but one known to Theon.

Theon, who had been flayed and cut and burned away piece by agonising piece until only the tiniest of fragments remained. Fragments which Reek had tried so hard to bury deep, so deep within the new personality that had been constructed for him that they could never rise up to torment him again. Reek shudders at the memory of how things had been when Theon was still there, increasing the agony of every unavoidable capitulation, magnifying the shame of every act that brought him low and then lower still. Reek does not miss Theon's presence, even if for while a foolhardy part of him had mourned his excision. Yet it seems some remnants had not been buried deep enough. Reek is too stupid and weak to even manage that.

Raising his head cautiously, Reek looks around the room. He appears to be alone, although that could, of course, be a jape. Another lesson learned through long and painful repetition. He is further disorientated that he cannot place himself in the room, that he appears to see all of it at once from every angle and yet cannot see himself. Something is not right here, far less right than usual, and he feels a bubble of bewildered fear expand in his chest.

He looks down, hoping for perhaps the first time to see his own mangled body. What had become of his wasted, disfigured flesh was something he generally avoided looking at whenever possible. He remembers the first time his grinning lord had held up a glass to his naked form and Reek had wept with shock and revulsion. Theon had been there then, much diminished but still raging in the peripheries of his mind. Sights like that had been part of the reason why Theon could not be allowed to abide.

As Reek does look down, he sees himself and finds his position in the room has solidified. He is on the bed, kneeling, the soft fur comforting on his bony knees. And he is naked. Oh, this is bad, bad, bad! Whatever madness is in this room, there was only ever one reason why a cur like him would be allowed on a bed, and his nakedness supported that hypothesis. His lord would soon be here (if he was not already, hidden and observing, cataloguing Reek's mistakes in preparation for punishing them). And he would take him, his arse or his mouth, either being a cruel punishment in itself. Reek takes a deep breath, trying hard to steady the frantic drumming of his heart and the trembling of his skeletal limbs. It was going to happen, of course, that was an inevitability – but he could try to be good, be still, be docile and compliant and make only the noises his lord wanted to hear. It would not stop it, but it could perhaps make it less terrible. This was as far as Reek could allow his meagre hope to bloom.

Then – suddenly, horrifically – his lord is there, kneeling on the bed before him. Reek cringes and drops his head to his chest. It feels wrong to him that his lord should ever kneel, even to his father, but before a creature as lowly as Reek it is unthinkable. His breathing quickens as his mind whirls – is this a test, a game? Should Reek know his place well enough to immediately drop to his belly? Or should he stay still, in the position he had presumably been put in? He wishes he could remember how he had got there, what orders he had been given. But he could remember nothing before the room. Perhaps he had been drugged, or his head had been hit so hard as to drive the memories out – both had certainly happened before, but alas never enough to bring the solace of oblivion for long. His mangled fingers twitch as he tries to force his addled mind to decide a course of action.

But before he is able, his lord reaches out a large pale hand and places it on Reek's shoulder. Reek is grateful that he is almost successful in controlling his flinch. The hand is warm and strong, the grip possessive but not painful. It almost feels...kind. This game is proving itself to be even more inexplicable (and thus dangerous) than Reek had feared.

Leaving his left hand on his shoulder, his lord raises his right hand to Reek's chin and lifts his head to face him. It is then that Reek realises that his lord too is naked. Another very bad, very confusing sign. Even when he took him, his lord only ever removed or unlaced whatever items of clothing were necessary to do so. In fact, it seems to Reek that this is the first time he has ever seen his lord completely unclothed.

And he is beautiful, Reek realises with silent and horrified awe. His eyes widen as they take in the strong, well-defined arms, moving down the smooth, muscular chest and abdomen to where his thick cock, half-hard and tinged with pink, emerges from its black nest of pubic hair. As he looks, Reek feels a strange sensation snake down from his belly to where his own cock used to be. Or rather, where Theon's cock used to be, as it was now only the site of Reek's shameful scar, his 'slit' as his lord liked to refer to it. It feels almost pleasurable, so must be wrong, and Reek is sure he will be punished for it.

But before he can begin to babble apologies, his lord pushes him onto his back. And despite the fact that he does so with uncharacteristic gentleness, Reek knows what this signifies. If he had a choice, he would prefer the more concealing position of all-fours with his lord behind, so he would not have to so carefully guard his own expression or risk seeing the look of sadistic triumph on his lord's face as he thrust into him. But, of course, this was never Reek's decision to make. Reek does not have choices, and if he ever seemed to, it would always turn out to be a game. So he lies back on the bed and raises his knees up to his narrow, scarred chest to allow his lord easier access, his wasted thighs already trembling with the effort.

And so it is with great surprise that he feels his lord gently but firmly push his legs down flat against the furs of the bed. This time he cannot suppress his flinch, but barely notices in the unusualness of the moment. It becomes more unusual still when his lord straddles his narrow hips and leans over to kiss him. His lord has kissed him before, but not like this – usually it is a gesture of dominance and pain, probing the empty sockets of lost teeth, biting his tongue and lips until they bled, gagging him with his tongue until he choked. But this is very different. It feels...like a kiss. Reek is very still, hyper-aware that something beyond his broken understanding is going on and he is completely adrift. He has no idea how his lord wants him to react to what can only be some new form of torment.

His lord withdraws and looks down at him, smiling. And that smile is terrifying, mostly because it is implicitly _not_. Reek thought himself familiar with every permutation of his lord's smiles and what they meant for him, from arrogantly triumphant to bitterly cold to straight-up deranged, but this was something he had never seen before. This smile seems genuine, almost loving. Reek shudders, mind scrabbling for what it could mean. But before he can react further, his lord moves down his chest and begins to lap at his left nipple. Reek tenses, expecting a bite at any moment and remembering vividly when his right nipple was taken; that had started with biting, before his lord had reached for his flaying knife. But the lapping escalated only to sucking, insistent but not painful. Pleasurable, in fact. Reek again feels that strange sensation in his belly, jolting down like lightning to the scar between his trembling legs.

His lord then moves to the right side of Reek's chest, tonguing the thick pad of scar tissue there. Reek is amazed that it feels just as sensitive, that despite the nipple and surrounding flesh having been pared away long ago, it still feels so good. Pleasure and confusion combine to overwhelm him and he cannot help but make a small whimpering sound halfway between a sob and a moan. This seems to encourage his lord, who moves down Reek's belly and crouches between his legs. He eyes his slit hungrily for a moment before leaning forward and taking it in his mouth. Reek freezes in terror. So _this_ is when the pain starts, this is when the agony and humiliation begin in earnest.

But there is no biting, no pain. Only a cacophony of pleasure. This can't be right, this has to be a trick. Reek's mind struggles to focus, he has to figure this out. But the feeling is so exquisite it breaks through everything. His lord is sucking on his scar now, drawing it into his mouth so that it swells with blood and pleasure, and running his tongue horizontally across the engorged tissue. He is sucking it the way ~~Reek~~... ~~Theon~~...someone would suck the lips of a girl's cunt. But it feels so good, Reek cannot even begin to feel demeaned. He simply does not care about anything beyond the pleasure building in his belly.

A muffled, wet, gagging sound breaks through Reek's revelry, only slightly louder than his own panting breath. And this is when the madness truly sets in, because it seems his lord is gagging on Reek's _cock_. He can feel his lord's mouth around it, against his hot tongue and nudging the back of his throat. It makes no sense and the small part of Reek's mind that is still capable of conscious thought starts to fear madness is indeed what has occurred here. It just isn't possible. But then his lord pushes deeper, his tight throat enveloping his impossible cock until his nose is pressed to his hollow belly. Reek's eyes roll back in his head and the importance of the mystery fades to nothing.

It only partially resurfaces when his lord draws back his mouth with a wet pop. Reek tries to look down, to verify with his own eyes what he has felt, but before he can, his lord is again straddling his hips. He lowers himself slowly onto him without even a grimace and Reek is amazed that his lord's body feels prepared for the intrusion, even slicked with oil. The only lubrication Reek ever got was spit if he begged prettily enough, and his own blood if he did not. But that didn't matter now – his lord was riding him slow and steady and deep, and Reek could feel something building in his body, something he had not felt or even thought himself capable of for so long.

After a period of time both mutable and exquisite, he senses his lord's body tighten around him as he ejaculates a white stream over Reek's belly and chest with a soft cry. This pushes Reek over the edge and feels himself coming deep inside his lord, the feeling transcendent and beautiful as he comes and comes and comes...

~~~~~

Reek awakes with a jolt, same as always. He is curled up in the straw of the kennels, his chest heaving, and he is alone. With a pang of disgust and shame, he realises that his hand is down the front of his trousers. He can feel the scar there; swollen and wet, but still undoubtedly a scar. When he can bring himself to look, he sees that what remains of his fingers are coated with an opalescent substance. It doesn't look like the seed of man, it is too thin and translucent for that, but despite his desperate attempts to convince himself otherwise, it is too viscous to be urine. Reek stares at it for a long while, strong urges to scream and to vomit competing within him. He manages to control both, instead letting only a single tear roll down his burning cheek.

He wipes his hand hurriedly in the straw when he hears his lord approaching, calling his name. And when his lord looks down at his trembling creature, he does not know why Reek burns with such shame and hopelessness. But Reek knows. It is because now even his own mind, feeble and broken as it is, his own dreams and pathetic desires, have betrayed him to unite with his lord in their singular purpose to make his every moment a living hell. Reek realises now that truly nothing belongs to him any more, not even those parts of himself he cannot control. He is Reek and everything that is Reek belongs to his lord, forever.

He is almost grateful when he is backhanded across the face and sent sprawling to the floor; at least physical pain, unambiguous and pure and inflicted from outside of himself, can be endured.


End file.
